


Was It Easy?

by Iost



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Also on Tumblr, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Heavy Angst, M/M, Short One Shot, aftermath of season 13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 19:01:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6671074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iost/pseuds/Iost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grif leaves, Simmons wants to know why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Was It Easy?

**Author's Note:**

> No WiFi  
> On phone

They haven't talked in years, it felt like centuries. Simmons hated it, how Grif had just… left. Left him, to fend off the world alone.

Simmons still had all of Grif’s things, he doesn't know why. But he does. Maybe he still has it because he still has faith. Ain't that a bitch?

The Dutch-Irish hadn't been himself when Grif left, and everyone knew why. Grif had promised to stay with him, forever and always.

It turns out, forever and always is never forever and always.

Simmons sighed, looking around the room. This was the last room he was in with Grif, the last room they shared space, the last room they had a conversation in, the last room they kissed in, the last room.

He shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. But when he looks down, he's holding Grif’s helmet, and the thoughts come back in an instant.

“Can I ask something?” He whispers to the orange piece of armor, his hands are shaking. Like he's nervous the helmet would tell him no.

If Grif was here, he probably would say no. But Simmons would always end up asking, right after they argue about it. He smiles.

The maroon soldier hears footsteps coming towards him, he freezes and waits for them to leave. They do quickly.

He doesn't wonder who it was, doesn't really care. He doesn't care much about anything anymore these days. Usually he'd be disgusted by sounding so much like Grif, but honestly, it doesn't matter anymore.

Did it even really matter in the first place?

He coughs, clearing his throat. He feels sick. Not like he's getting a cold, but like he's going to puke everywhere. Or shoot everything.

Both sound nice.

Shaking his head, he wracks his brain, trying to remember what he was doing. He stares at the orange helmet, oh.

“Was it easy?” He pauses, trying to think of what else to say, before continuing, “Leaving me. Saying all that cute stuff, and then leave like it was nothing. Like we were nothing. Like I was nothing.”

The Dutch-Irish takes a huge inhale, trying not to cry. He hated crying. It made him feel weak. He wasn't weak.

“Was I nothing?” He whisper-asks, breath hitching harshly. He doesn't know why, but he expects an answer.

He hears nothing, which isn't a surprise. Really. He sighs, standing up and setting the Hawaiian's helmet down. He starts to walk away, but a voice stops him.

A voice that sounds so much like the mans voice he fell in love with, a voice that sounds like they're bored all the time, a voice that sounded exactly like Dexter Grif’s.

A voice that said yes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?


End file.
